A Question of Love Page 7

‘Well, things we really need,‘ she replied. ‘Like nail varnish which dries in one second for instance, or tights that never run, or a microwave with a “Reverse” button for those times when I overcook things, or a voicemail system which lets you go back in and delete the stupid, incoherent message you just left someone, or, let’s see—oh God she’s puked!’ A tiny white lagoon had formed on Felicity’s shoulder and was now oozing down her back. ‘Where’s the muslin?’ She cast her eyes about. ‘I never, ever have a muslin when I need one.’

  ‘Which explains why you look like a walking Jackson Pollock,’ said Hugh.

  ‘Could you grab me some kitchen roll?’ He tore some off and wiped her baggy black t-shirt. ‘Blast—I’ll have to wash it again. Oh well,’ she sighed. ‘Spit happens, and at least she’s kept most of it down.’ By now Olivia’s blonde head was sinking on to Felicity’s chest. ‘She’s so tired, the little darling. Could you put her in her cot, Hugh, while I carry on with supper?’

  ‘I was about to pour myself a drink. I’ve had a long day.’

  ‘You can have a drink afterwards,’ she said as she handed him the baby, ‘but I want her in bed right now.’ Hugh took Olivia, then gave Fliss a mock salute.

  ‘Rog-er. Nighty-night Auntie Laura,’ he squeaked, offering me the baby to kiss. ‘Your quiz was fantastic by the way.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Everyone we know watched it so I guess you got a good audience.’

  ‘We did. The overnight viewing figures were amazing for a first outing—almost three million. We “won the slot” as they say in the trade.’

  ‘And did you see that little piece in the Standard?’

  ‘Yes. They seemed to like it.’

  ‘They loved it,’ said Fliss. ‘And so did we.’

  ‘Quadrimum,’ Hugh muttered. ‘I like that. Anyway, come on Mrs Baby—up we go.’

  ‘I’m really trying to crack the sleeping problem,’ said Felicity as I got the knives and forks out of the drawer. ‘She wakes at least twice. It’s exhausting.’

  ‘Doesn’t it bother Hugh?’

  ‘No—he’s still in the spare room.’

  ‘Really?’ I picked up a tiny white sock embroidered with a garland of pink roses. ‘Doesn’t he mind?’

  ‘I don’t think so. He doesn’t complain. Which is quite something considering that we haven’t—’ she lowered her voice—‘you know, for ages.’

  ‘Really?’ I said politely. As I say, Fliss likes to share everything with me. I’ve always found it touching, even if I’ve never been the same with her—but Fliss has this need to tell. Confidences gush out of her like oil from a tanker. She’s the opposite of Hope, who’s controlled and contained.

  ‘No nookie,’ she explained. ‘Not since before the baby was born.’ She reached up and got down three plates. ‘I haven’t felt like it.’

  ‘Well, that sounds a bit…risky, Fliss. I wouldn’t neglect him…’

  ‘Baby love, my baby love…‘

  Over the monitor we could hear Hugh crooning to Olivia as he changed her nappy.

  ‘I need you, oh how I need you…‘ We could hear her giggle and gurgle.

  ‘I mean, he’s a good-looking man, Fliss.’

  ‘But all you do is treat me bad…’

  She laughed. ‘Oh Hugh’s far too straight-laced to stray.’

  ‘Break my heart and leave me sad…’

  ‘Anyway, who’d want him?’ she added as she lit the hob. ‘He’s not even earning. He just sits in the shed all day.’

  ‘Do be doo, be do be doo, ‘cause baby love, my baby love…‘

  ‘Well, the baby books all say that you should make a fuss of your husband.’

  ‘Been missing ya, miss kissing ya…‘

  Felicity gave me an odd little look. ‘How do you know what the baby books say?’

  ‘Well…I…’ I nodded towards the bookshelf. ‘I’ve looked at that Baby Whisperer book of yours—I love reference books—and it advises new mums not to ignore…that side of life.’

  ‘Do be do be do do be do be do do da da do be do do be do be do…‘

  ‘I don’t know Laura,’ she sighed. ‘I find sex perfectly easy to live without—I don’t miss it at all.’

  ‘I do,’ I said dismally as I laid the table. ‘I haven’t had so much as a cuddle in three years.’

  Felicity got down three glasses. ‘Well that’s just plain crazy! I’ve always said you should have looked for someone else.’

  ‘How could I? I was too depressed, plus I had zero self-confidence—and who’d have wanted me? With my baggage?’ I concluded bleakly.

  ‘Well, yes, I admit that your situation hasn’t been…great. But, look, what about your boss?’ she asked as she poured the dressing into the bowl. ‘Every time he picks up the phone when I ring you at work, I can’t help thinking how nice he sounds—or maybe I’m just mesmerized by his gorgeous voice.’

  ‘No, Tom is nice. And he does have a lovely voice, that’s true. I’m so used to hearing it, I don’t often think about it.’

  ‘Where does he come from?’

  ‘Montreal. The English-speaking part, though he’s lived here for ten years now.’

  ‘What about him then?’ I shook my head. ‘Don’t you like him?’

  ‘Not in that way.’

  She began to toss the salad. ‘You mean you don’t find him attractive?’

  ‘No. It’s not that, because he is attractive. Very attractive actually.’

  She dribbled in some more dressing. ‘What does he look like?’

  ‘Well…he has a boy-next-door kind of charm. Brown hair, receding slightly; large blue eyes, medium height, medium build. He’s a bit like Tobey McGuire.’

  ‘And do you think he likes you?’

  ‘God, I don’t…know. I don’t suppose he’s ever thought of me in that way. He’s…fond of me I guess, but that’s all.’

  ‘He was good about Nick, wasn’t he?’ She put the top back on the French dressing.

  ‘Yes, he was. He was a real…rock. And we’ve worked together for six years now—right from the start—when it was just him and me, so we’ve a very good professional rapport.’

  ‘Then why not make it a personal one too?’

  ‘Well, because a) he’s my boss, so it could be extremely awkward and b)—and you are not to repeat this—‘

  ‘I promise,’ she said seriously.

  ‘- he did something pretty awful, a few years ago. I’ve never told you before, out of loyalty to him—but the fact is that although he is wonderful in many ways I find it…off-putting.’

  Felicity’s eyes were like saucers. ‘What did he do?’

  ‘He left his wife—’

  ‘Oh,’ she began to toss the salad again. ‘So what? That happens all the time. You can’t hold that against him, Laura. You do tend to be judgemental, you know.’

  ‘- a month after their baby was born.’ The salad servers stopped in mid air.

  ‘Oh. I see. That is awful.’ She pulled a face. ‘The poor woman.’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘Did he have some sort of crisis about becoming a dad?’

  ‘No. He just left her for someone else.’

  ‘God…’

  ‘It was in the gossip columns.’

  ‘Really? Why?’

  ‘Because the woman he went off with was Tara McLeod.’

  ‘The actress?’

  ‘Yes. She’d had the main part in that drama-documentary we made about Helen of Troy—that’s how they met. The affair didn’t last long, but it was curtains for his marriage. But because Tara was up and coming then, there was a bit of press interest, and one or two of the pieces mentioned how devastated Tom’s wife, Amy, was.’

  ‘But the papers print all sorts of rubbish, so how do you know it was true?’

  ‘Because a) I saw him and Tara together a number of times, and b) his own sister told me. She was in London not long after that—she’s a non-executive director of the company—and we had lunch togeth
er, the three of us; and while Tom was away from the table she just started talking about it, as though she wanted to explain.’

  ‘She was probably a bit embarrassed.’

  ‘I think she was. She said she assumed I knew about him leaving Amy, so I said I did, and then she just shrugged, and said that it had been a “coup de foudre”. So I guess he must have developed some sort of fatal attraction which skewed his judgement.’

  Felicity got out a bottle of wine. ‘Leaving your wife for another woman when she’s just had your child is just about as skewed as it gets.’ I thought, as I often have done, of how incongruous it seemed that someone as decent as Tom could have behaved so badly. But then—as I know only too well, because of Nick—the ‘nicest’ people can surprise you in the most terrible ways. ‘And does he have any contact with his child?’ Felicity continued.

  ‘I don’t think so. His wife divorced him then went back to Canada, so whether he ever sees his child on trips home I don’t know. He never mentions him, and he doesn’t have a photo of him in his office, so I suspect the answer is no. But…it’s affected how I view him—on a personal level at least.’

  ‘Well, I don’t blame you for not getting too close. Just keep it as it is, warm, but strictly business-like.’

  ‘That is what I do. In any case I find it hard to think of Tom—or anyone at work—in anything other than a professional way.’

  Now, as Felicity rummaged in the drawer for a corkscrew, I thought how odd it is that I should spend so much of my waking time with my colleagues, yet know so little about how they live. I know that Dylan has a girlfriend who’s a producer on Richard and Judy; I know that our production assistant, Gill, is engaged. I know that Sara’s boyfriend’s a teacher, and that Nerys lives alone in Paddington, with a couple of budgies. And I know that Tom left his wife a month after the birth of their child.

  ‘Is there anyone else you might be interested in?’ I heard Fliss say. She handed me the bottle and I started to peel off the thick metal foil. ‘I’m inviting a very eligible man to the christening by the way.’

  I looked at her, appalled. ‘Please Fliss, don’t.‘

  ‘I taught his daughter some years ago.’

  ‘I don’t want you to.’

  ‘I bumped into him again recently in Portobello and he told me he’d got divorced.’

  ‘Especially not at a family occasion.’

  ‘He’s called Norman, and he’s a stockbroker.’

  ‘It’s not appropriate. Oh this damn foil won’t come off.’

  ‘Sorry, but I’ve already invited him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Firstly, because I’ve invited loads of people, so it won’t matter if he’s there too and secondly—and this is the main reason—because I want you to meet someone.’ She looked at me. ‘Laura, in June you’ll be thirty-five. I want you to have the chance of a family. I want you to know the bliss of being pregnant.’ I shifted on my chair. ‘I want you to experience the joy of knowing that a baby is growing inside you—your baby,’ she added with evangelical fervour as I struggled with the metal foil. ‘I want you to know the indescribable happiness of holding your baby for the first time…’

  ‘Shut up, will you Fliss! Oh shit!’ Blood was suddenly seeping from my index finger. ‘Now I’ve cut myself!’ I wailed. ‘Just stop lecturing me will you and get me a plaster.‘ I wiped away an angry tear.

  ‘I’m sorry to be so forthright, Laura,’ said Felicity quietly. ‘But I can see I’ve touched a nerve.’

  ‘No you haven’t. It’s just the shock. I hate the sight of blood!’

  She wrapped a wet tissue around my index finger and it instantly became tinged with crimson. I felt sick.

  ‘I’m sorry I upset you, Laura.’ Felicity put her arm round me, and I felt my anger subside. ‘But I just want you to be happy,’ she said softly. ‘Look how hard it was for me to get pregnant—who’s to say it wouldn’t be hard for you too?’ My stomach lurched with dismay. ‘I don’t want you to miss out on this wonderful area of life—and that means you’ve got to meet someone soon. Haven’t you?’ she insisted. ‘I’m only trying to help you.’

  I looked at her. ‘Well…maybe I don’t need your help.’ I peeped at the cut. It had almost stopped bleeding.

  ‘Why not?’ Felicity tore open a Band Aid. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Maybe I already have met someone. You see, something extraordinary happened yesterday…’ And now, as Felicity applied the plaster to my finger, I told her about my encounter with Luke.

  ‘Luke?’ she exclaimed with a smile. ‘Oh I liked him—well, we all did, didn’t we? I mean, he was such fun.’ She pulled the cork out of the wine bottle and poured two large glasses. ‘He always had some snippet of useless information or other up his sleeve—I can still remember some of them—what was it?—oh yes, that a hippo’s breast milk is pink—I’ve never forgotten it—and that Virginia Woolf wrote all her books standing up. Yes…’ she nodded delightedly. ‘Luke was great. I’m thrilled you’ve bumped into him again. What happened before was…a pity.’

  ‘You’re right. Finding him in bed—or rather bath—with someone else was a pity.’

  ‘That’s true—but then, come on, Laura, he was very young. You both were.’ She sipped her wine. ‘And it was only a one-night stand wasn’t it?’

  ‘That’s what he claimed. But I felt as though I’d stepped on a landmine—everything seemed ruined—I couldn’t deal with it.’

  ‘You might have been able to now. Our perspective changes as we get older.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right. And after what Nick did, there’s not much I couldn’t cope with. But that wasn’t now—it was then.’

  ‘And this is now…’ She gave me a meaningful look. ‘This is a second chance, Laura. A second chance, to ignite an old flame—so you must absolutely grab it with both hands. You’ve waited long enough. Emotionally, you’ve been…frozen, but now you must get out there, and…seize the day!’ Funny. That’s just what Tom had said. ‘Carpe diem!’ Fliss added gaily. ‘So, tell me—were there any sparks?’

  ‘Well, yes. I’d often wondered what would happen if Luke and I ever met again—and now I know. The chemistry was just the same. Except that he’s now a separated man with a six-year-old daughter and I’m a…’ I swallowed. I always find it hard to say.

  ‘And you are going to see him again, aren’t you?’ said Fliss. There was a pause. ‘Please tell me you are, Laura. Don’t be tricky. I know you.’

  My heart looped the loop.

  ‘I’m having dinner with him tomorrow night.’

  THREE

  On some TV quiz shows there’s a degree of preparation in the way the questions are asked. On Mastermind, for example, John Humphreys will say; ‘In classical music, what does the term “Legato” mean?’ rather than, simply, ‘What does “Legato” mean?’ Or he’ll say, ‘History; and when was the Diet of Worms?’ rather than, just, ‘When was the Diet of Worms?’ This gives the contestants a split second in which to tune into the next subject and prepare. But on Whadda Ya Know?!! they don’t have that luxury—they just get the questions—boom, boom, boom. ‘Of what was Hecate a Greek goddess?’ (The Underworld); ‘What is the alternative name for a wildebeest? (A gnu); ‘Which line of latitude provides the border between North and South Korea?’ (The 38th Parallel); ‘Which river runs through the Peak District?’ (the Dove). We do it that way because it’s harder, and because it adds to the tension and pace. As I walked up Ladbroke Grove to meet Luke on Friday night a similarly rapid inquisition formed in my mind. ‘Did you cheat on me more than once during our two years together? How many girlfriends did you have after that? Is your wife pretty? Is she clever? Is she successful? Why did you break up?’

  ‘Don’t look so serious, Laura!’ There he was, standing on the corner of Kensington Park Road, outside E & O. He kissed me on the cheek, then held his face for a moment against mine, and, again, I felt the old familiar longing for him stirring. I had once loved him so much.
As we walked into the restaurant I felt the light pressure of his hand on my back. It made me feel elated.

  ‘At first I misheard you,’ I said, as we were shown to a quiet table in the corner. ‘I thought I was being invited to the ENO for a bit of opera.’

  ‘We’ll do that next time.’ I felt my face heat up with pleasure at the notion of a next time. ‘Okay?’

  I suppressed a smile. ‘Maybe.’ I glanced around the monochrome interior, with its blond floor and dark lacquered wooden screening. ‘This is cool.’

  ‘Didn’t you ever come here with your husband?’ He had used the quiet, respectful voice that people use when they mention Nick.

  ‘No. We didn’t eat out much. Money was tight.’

  ‘He worked for a charity didn’t he?’

  ‘He was the director of SudanEase—a small development agency.’

  ‘That’s a tough call. He must have been a good person.’

  ‘He was.’ I always hate talking about Nick in the past tense; it upsets me. ‘He was a very good person in many ways.’

  ‘I meant to write to you,’ Luke said as he unfolded his napkin. ‘I even started a letter—but it was…awkward. I just didn’t know what to say.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said with a brittle smile. ‘Lots of people had the same problem.’

  Luke’s expression suggested that although he was curious about Nick, he felt he might be intruding—so he enquired about my family instead. As we sipped our champagne I told him about my parents retiring to the Pennines to run a B & B and about Hope’s success in the City, and about how she doesn’t want to have kids, but is happy with that, as is her husband, Mike. Then I told him about Fliss.

  ‘I saw her,’ he said. ‘Pushing a pram along Westbourne Grove.’

  ‘They live round there.’

  ‘So do I—in Lonsdale Road. It’s such a goldfish bowl I’m surprised I hadn’t seen her before. I wanted to speak to her—I was dying to ask her about you actually.’

  ‘Why didn’t you then?’

  He shrugged. ‘I felt…awkward. I assumed I’d be persona non grata with members of your family.’

  ‘But it was such a long time ago.’

  ‘I know—but, even so, they must have disapproved of me.’